BRE
by C.D.Meiss
Summary: Beta Rosemary Epsilon hates her job a burger joint in space, but she hates her boss more. A story written for my Creative Writing class, set in the universe of Hitchhiker's Guide. T for Language.
1. Chapter 1

B.R.E.

Amidst the starlit expanse of space surrounding Asteroid B42-08H3, fancy star cruisers and crappy cargo junks rumbled and roared past what looked like a gaudy, over-lit city perched on a hunk of rock. If a passenger on these ships had any curiosity at all to see what was outside their window and had glanced in the direction of this bright mini-city, they would have seen nothing unusual.

But say they werecurious for no other reason than curiosity itself and they had whipped out their various models of Vis-O-Bright Ocular Enhancers, they might have seen a tiny speck of black tethered to an outdoor anchor, floating serenely outside an enormous rapid nutrition establishment.

That speck was me; Beta Rosemary Epsilon. Understandably, most beings in my place of employment called me Bre instead. It also fit on my name tag better than Beta Rosemary Epsilon.

And if that passenger on the fancy star cruiser or the crappy cargo junk had zoomed in with their Vis-O-Bright Ocular Enhancer's enlarging function, they would clearly be able to see the rather acrobatic roll my third eye performed when my coworker asked, "Are you sure you don't need your mask?"

"For the eighth time, Falor, I'm sure." I took a swipe at the transparent aluminum window looking into the airlock. "I have a tracheal-sealer, you know that." My coworkers all had an annoying habit of assuming that my physical make up was the same as theirs and this sort of interaction happened almost every time I went outside the protective force field of our establishment. "And anyway, I'm almost through here."

Falor's ruddy snout scrunched and steam clouded his side of the glass as he huffed in resignation. "Okay, that's fine, but don't come scrambling back to me when your eyes melt out of your head."

I decided not to respond to such a petty comment, and continued cleaning the vista-size window. My bottle of Vis-O-Bright Intergalactic Cleaning Agent was almost empty, so I doused the rest of the window and tossed the bottle over my shoulder into empty space. The cleaning crews would pick it up later on their route through the city and it was one less thing for me to lug inside.

Since this building was an older structure the airlock wasn't meant to be opened from out here, so Falor had to punch the release button for me on the other side. Turning away from the window to unhook my materials from a secondary tether, I prepared to signal to him when a small cruiser sped by and showered me with sticky particles of carbonated sugar. I heard cackling over the roar of the thrusters: some idiot had dumped their drink out the porthole on purpose.

Swearing in my native tongue I shook my head to get rid of some of the sugar particles, making the metallic beads in my hair clink together. I spun around on my tether as I wiped my face with my sleeve, taking in the bluish dots sprayed across the length of the transparent aluminum.

"Fantastic," I sighed.

Falor looked appalled, punching the release button furiously and beginning his tirade before the door had even opened completely.

"I hate beings. Most of them are just so rude and have no respect for anyone but themselves." I shuffled inside and shut the airlock as he continued. "Now you have to clean the window again and—"

"I don't think so."

Falor raised an eyebrow, following me past the main counter and into the supply area. "But Bre, there are blue carbonated sugar particles all over it."

"I'm aware. There are blue carbonated sugar particles all over me, too."

"But Bre, the boss told you—"

"I know what he said. I cleaned it, they messed it up. Someone else can fix it."

"But Bre!"

I didn't care to hear the rest of his admonishments, so I traipsed into the lobby area and snatched up some food-flecked carbon trays and prepared myself to visit The Dishwasher.

Here at the Jet-Fuel Jack's Diner on Asteroid B42-08H3, we had a special method of cleaning the perpetually disgusting trays and various eating utensils used by our lovely customers. Long before any of the current staff could remember, there had been a machine of some sort installed that was designed (probably) to save time and labor by washing the paraphernalia for us. At an indeterminable time during the reign of the previous staff of this particular Jet-Fuel Jack's, however, the dishwashing machine had taken on a perversion of life force, and was soon sentient. Its' door would open and close randomly at first and then regularly once The Dishwasher became aware of the purpose for which it was built. Loud gnashing of gears and occasional shaking fits accompanied this opening and closing, and The Dishwasher quickly learned to love the fear it could instill in the employees of Jet-Fuel Jack's.

To visit this creature was a horrifyingly cathartic experience. The chosen employee had to kneel down in a subservient position fourteen feet away—and no less, otherwise the jets of scalding water that sometimes lashed out would cause painful lacerations—and shove the dirty items as hard as physically able. If the employee's aim was true the items would rocket across the floor and into the waiting washing chamber that gaped open of its own accord. The noise was deafening and emotionally scarred each employee. Because of this fact the ritual was considered a sort of initiation into the company.

Pushing open the door to the stairway to the underground chamber where the feral machine was contained, images from my first visit to The Dishwasher sporadically flashed before me.

It was only my second day when they sent me down the clanging stairway. The space was lit only by one ancient neon bulb; there was too much noise for me to handle; so much motion and heat that my head spun. I saw myself screaming and scrambling on all fours to reach the stairway as the water jets shot toward me, heard again the solemn silence as my shift manager had treated the mild burns on my hands.

But that was three years ago. The Dishwasher hardly scared me anymore, so my coworkers often sent me down with trays in their stead.

"Wake up, foul beast," I called as I jumped down the stairs two at a time. _Foul beast_ was a term I'd heard on an archaic film the night before and I wanted to try it out.

The Dishwasher gurgled to life as it heard me approaching. "_How dare you speak to me."_ Fury caused the "on/off" light to pulse rapidly and chemically-saturated water to surge in waves within it.

I rolled my third eye for the second time in ten minutes. "Cut it out. We do this every day."

"_Irrelevant. No one speaks to me._" The rushing sound receded to a dull roar anyway.

"That's better." I knelt at the prescribed fourteen foot distance and watched the door swing open, soap suds and malice roiling together. Taking a deep breath I shot the trays forward, straight into The Dishwasher's bowels. "See ya," I muttered, ascending the stairs into the light of the restaurant.

It was busy today, as usual. 

The boring thing about Jet-Fuel Jack's was that no matter what kind of marketing style they used and no matter how much they lied to the media about the quality of their food, it was exactly the same as every other rapid nutrition establishment in the galaxy. Clark's Cosmic Café, Orion's Plate, the Horsehead Nebula Burger House, all of these were crafted from the same universal-restaurant-chain-pretending-to-be-mom-and-pop-diners mold but painted different shades of lame. All that mattered was that the beings in the star cruisers and the cargo junks were hungry and out of options.

There were, however, a few perks to being an employee at places like Jet-Fuel Jack's. Being paid was a given, obviously. Getting a half-off discount on our food was also a nice bonus. The best part of all, though, was working alongside friends from school. _Having things in common with who you work with is a key part to being successful_, is what my parental figures would say and today I actually agreed with them.

From the look on her face as she read back an order over the counter, Celh was having as fantastic a day as I was. Her skin, which was normally deep amethyst in color, was a bland shade of lavender at the moment. One of our regulars was at her register, his sloth-like appearance slack with incomprehension as she reread his order for a second time. Taking pity on my friend, I gently scooted her out of the way.

"I'll take care of him, Celh."

She heaved a sigh of relief and stalked away gratefully.

"Hi there, Mr. Belbling," I said, typing in his customary order that hadn't changed in seven months. "That'll be eight-oh-six, Mr. Belbling."

His clawed hands fumbled with his wallet at molasses speed, so as usual I took it from him and counted out what he owed. I handed him the receipt, receiving a little smile.

"Have a jet-fueled day, Mr. Belbling," I said. I'd always hated that phrase, but it was a requirement and the little sloth creature shuffling away from the counter seemed to like it.

Since there were no beings in line to order, I scanned the restaurant lazily. From where I stood I could see straight through the window of the main airlock entrance and out into the sparkling vista of the galaxy. At least I hoped it was sparkling. The corner of space occupied by our crowded asteroid was dirty and clouded from the trash and rocket exhaust floating weightlessly along, making it hard to see what the sky really looked like. To my immediate left behind a steel partition the kitchen shimmered with heat, making the already shadowy shapes of the cooks dance and twist in the light. The stairs leading to the basement were on the right and looked dingy from my angle. The seating area of the building was filled with creatures and people milling around, eating and drinking and generally making a mess. Hopefully I wouldn't be the one to clean it all up later.

After a few moments of staring at the tacky lime green and pearlescent peach designs on the walls, I shook my head and adjusted my headband. Featuring a little rocket that matched the outdated paint scheme of Jet-Fuel Jack's, it was thick enough to hold back the tube-like strands of my hair but clashed horrendously with their cobalt hue. Everything about Jack's clashed with me.

Perhaps that was why I wasn't surprised at the sudden verbal lashing that snapped me out of my reverie.

"Bre, I thought I told you to clean the airlock window. How long have you been standing around doing nothing like a damn Mars dust farmer?"

"That's racist against Martians, Tarq. And I did clean the window but—"

"_Mister_ _Tarquinius _to you, Epsilon," he snarled, spittle flying from his pig-like snout as he shouted up at me. I was always tempted to reach out and snatch the steel cigar from his lips and stuff it in his eye when he called me Epsilon, and this moment was no exception. I balled my fists and stuffed them in my pockets, waiting for him to go on.

"It seems to me that every time I look at you, Epsilon, you are loitering or lounging on this counter and generally disgracing my fine restaurant."

"Is it really that great of a place?"

"Shut your mouth while I'm reprimanding you. As I was saying," here he took a deep breath and let out a huge puff of acrid smoke, "you're a lazy Venusian who can't do anything but irritate our customers and roll your eyes every minute of your shifts."

My ears burned and the urge to poke out his eyes became almost unbearable. "I'll have you know that only I can keep from screaming when Mr. Belbling tries to order—" From the kitchen Falor shouted his agreement and my chest heaved with years of pent up frustration. "I am the single, solitary employee in the history of this stupid restaurant that has tamed The Dishwasher. Don't tell me what I can and can't do, you smoke-belching exhaust pipe."

Instead of turning scarlet like I expected—hoped, actually—he rocked back on his heels, squinting with smug glee. "If it weren't for the competition I would fire you right here, right now."

"What competition?"

"The competition against the Horsehead Nebula Burger House to win our own restaurant asteroid." The tone in his voice was repugnant.

"…what?"

Celh came up beside me, wiping her hands on a dishrag and looking as confused as I felt. "What do you mean, Mr. Tarquinius? I don't get it."

He waved her away and moved towards his office. "Of course you don't, you stupid girl. A memo will be posted later today; be sure everyone reads it." And he was gone, trailing a thin line of smoke behind him.

I turned to my amethyst friend, grabbing her upper arm. "What in the universe just happened?"

Her eyes were wild and I could see the thoughts churning in her head. "I think…I think we either just got really lucky or we're in astronomical trouble."

"Well, that clears it right up."

"Hey, I know as much as you do, Bre. Don't gimme that."

Thinking hard, I untied my apron and took off the headband, letting my hair fall free. My shift ended in three minutes and I wasn't going to waste any more time here than I needed to. I grabbed my bag off a hook near the stairs, said goodbye to Celh and Falor, scanned all three eyes in the Vis-O-Bright Optical Recognition box by the airlock, and left.

* * *

**A/N:** Greetings, fair readers. Long time no see. I extend the proverbial olive branch as a peace offering and to qualm any incensed tempers at my extended absence. College is a life-wrecker. I loved writing this piece and I hope you love it as well. Please Read, Review, and Enjoy. :)

_C.D.M._


	2. Chapter 2

I barely had time to scan my eyes and walk four feet past the airlock the next day when Celh and Falor threw themselves at me. They began talking and gesturing at once in a cacophony of shrill tones, fur, and feathers, overwhelming me to the point that I had to clap a hand over their mouths.

"Can I set my stuff down and get behind the counter before you tell me the universe is ending? Or do I have to hear it this very minute?" My friends blinked at me. I sighed, slipping on my headband.

"You should read the memo, when you're ready," Falor said.

I nodded and made my way towards the storage area near the stairs. There was a clear sheet secured to the stairwell door, printed with the Jet-Fuel Jack's logo and filled with tiny script. For some reason the company liked to design their memos so that whoever tried to read them looked like they were millennia old and couldn't read, and I'm sure I exhibited this perfectly when I squinted at the sheet.

What I gathered from the obnoxiously high-and-mighty notice was that there was indeed going to be a competition with the Horsehead Nebular Burger House Company. The prize was a small, un-industrialized asteroid smack in the middle of the busiest highway in our sector, InterGalaxy-725, and the asteroid would be solely devoted to our restaurant. As I read further I was floored by what the actual competition detailed and I motioned violently for Celh.

"What? Did you read the whole thing yet?" she asked.

I stabbed a finger at the middle of the sheet. "Am I reading this right? Does that say that whichever restaurant lands on the prize rock first wins?"

She squinted and leaned forward to read the line. "Yeah. Don't forget we have to make a complete meal too, in order to win."

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she chirped.

"So…how are we going to move this place? It was never built for mobility."

"I'm not sure…maybe they'll dig under it and tie it to a cargo ship?"

"Drag it there, you mean?"

"Yeah, something like that!"

"Hm." I reached for a bottle of Vis-O-Bright Intergalactic Cleaning Agent and a rag to attempt an attack on a faintly glowing stain on the counter. "That would cost Tarq way too much money."

"I think that might be why he hasn't fired you yet, Bre." Falor had just arrived behind the counter and stood next to Celh, leaning an elbow on her shoulder. She pushed him off with an irritated look and turned to me again.

"If that's true, what would you be able to do for the competition?"

I shrugged, but Falor said, "She's friends with The Dishwasher, that's what."

Snorting, I returned my attention to the luminescent stain. "I'm not friends with that thing, I've just sort of tamed it."

Falor was persistent. "That's what I meant; you can control it. I have this theory that the Boss is planning to use The Dishwasher's power to fuel our journey to the new asteroid and—"

I flicked my rag at him as I went to put the bottle of cleaning agent away. "That's ridiculous. The thing has power, yeah, but not enough to move an entire building. Shouldn't you be cooking right now, Falor?"

Ignoring my last comment he followed me around, gesturing wildly. "Maybe they'll hook it up to thrusters or something! The Dishwasher could easily be turned into an engine, and with you controlling it we would get there way before the Horsehead could even _think _of a plan."

When I turned around to give him another eye roll my whole body tensed. Tarq was standing at the end of the counter, smiling evilly and puffing hard on his steel cigar. My jaw clenched painfully and I dug my nails into my palms.

"Why, Falor, what a brilliant idea! I might just make you head of the whole expedition for that."

The fur around Falor's eyes turned a sickly orange and he looked back at the smug pig. "Uh…thanks, Mr. Tarquinius. I guess."

"And quite a good guesser you are, too. I knew I wanted to use that damn homicidal machine as power but I didn't know how to harness it. Epsilon will do nicely. I'll see you after your shift, Falor."

"Yes, sir…"

The sugary quality in his voice made _me _homicidal. Never before had I wanted to harm him as much as I did then, watching his back as he walked away laughing. Celh, who had been standing by and listening tentatively, looked horrified at this whole encounter.

"There's no way he's going to make you do this, either of you!"

"I think he's gonna do whatever the hell he wants."

Falor held his snout in his hands. I clapped him on the back, resigned and a little less murderous since Tarq wasn't in the room.

"It'll be okay, don't worry. We'll figure something out."

* * *

Later that night, I lay awake on my bunk staring at the corrugated steel ceiling inches from my nose. Every once and a while I heard tiny pieces of rocks and trash hitting the side of my house, soft plinks and thuds that seemed to tell me that the Universe was thinking about me. I rolled over and replayed the events of the day.

My shift had gone on as usual and remained positively boring in comparison to my conversation with the pig-nosed tyrant. My friends, however, seemed transformed. Falor was ghost-like for the rest of the day as he thought about what he had to figure out in order to stay an employee at Jack's. Jittery and almost despondent, Celh constantly plied me with questions as to what use she could be in the competition. I didn't have the heart to tell her, but there was nothing unique that she could do.

I had decided from that moment that I wouldn't aid this competition. If our building won, nothing would change. Tarquinius would still be horrible, The Dishwasher would still be mean, and galactic jerks would still dump carbonated sugar particles on us when we tried to clean the window. My problem was that I couldn't do nothing. I couldn't stand by and say "no, I won't" without some reasoning, because what would be the point? I might as well agree and bend to the will of the Company. So I had to do something.

But what?

Restless, I rolled over again to face the center of the room, and watched my sisters sleep.

As my name suggests, I'm the second of five daughters and so I received the top bunk above my sister Gamma. The beds in our room were arranged in a bow-tie pattern with Alpha's single bed in the middle and a bunk bed on each wall. I had the top left bunk with Gamma underneath me, and Delta had the top right bunk with little Epsilon underneath her. As I looked at her, Epsilon shifted in the starlight and opened her eyes.

At three years old, my youngest sister had the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen. Each of us had the amber colored eyes of our long-forgotten father but Epsilon Sorrel Epsilon had eyes of citrine. They were clear and deep and held all the wonder of youth and wisdom beyond her years. She blinked at me now, and I knew she knew I was worried. She was remarkably perceptive for such a young Venusian.

With a smile, Epsilon stared intensely at me with her eyes of fire, and promptly rolled over to face the wall.

She was also a mischievous child.

I rolled over too, looking again at the corrugated ceiling. Epsilon's eyes swam before my mind's eye and I couldn't shake them. They pierced me, stirring something in my brain that took until the morning to manifest. By then I had a plan formulated that would solve everything.

* * *

"Today is the day, Epsilon. You're going to help Falor begin converting that monster downstairs into a machine worthy of this company."

"My name isn't Epsilon. It's Beta Rosemary Epsilon or Bre."

"I don't give a flying Valorian slug's ass."

"Good morning to you too, Tarq."

"That's _Mister Tarquinius_, to you!"

"_I don't give a flying Valorian slug's ass._"

"Oh, how I wish I could fire you."

I swore under my breath and stomped down the stairs as hard and as noisily as I could. When I reached the basement Falor looked up, already singed and bits of his fur smoking. "You're here," he said breathlessly.

"Regrettably so," I muttered, looking around. The floor was cluttered with all manner of tools and supplies, but it seemed that so far no attempt to simply approach the machine had worked. Taking the dirty carbon trays from him, I asked, "How many times have you tried to get close to it?"

"Twelve." Falor looked sheepish, rubbing his nose. Strands of ruddy fur wafted to the floor.

I knelt down, hearing the rage in the roar of The Dishwasher's churning insides. "Thirteenth time's the charm. How good are you with wiring?"

"I'm going to college to be a rocket engineer, Bre."

"Okay then. Grab those cables and slide me that plasma knife over there. When I shoot these trays in and the door slams shut, leap behind it and keep the door closed with the cables. I'll cut the main plug and we'll go from there."

He looked at me with wide eyes, the tangle of cables hanging like a dead squid in his arms.

"Ready?"

"I suppose."

Assuming that was as good as it was going to get, I inhaled deeply and shouted, "Wake up, foul beast!" The Dishwasher roared to life, soap suds frothing from the interior as the door dropped open. I shot the trays in much harder than usual and heard them clang against the back of the machine. Falor flashed across the room, the door clapped shut, and The Dishwasher seemed to thrash back and forth as he strangled it with the cable-squid.

Vaulting from my knees and scrambling as my weight pitched forward, I activated the plasma knife and sliced the main cable plugged into the wall in half. The Dishwasher went silent.

Panting, Falor slid off and onto the floor. "Is…is it dead?"

"For now." I tossed the plasma knife into a pile of tools and sat next to him. "Now we get to work."

"Are we really going to do this?" His eyes were full and I could see him fighting himself inside. "It doesn't seem right, somehow."

With a reassuring pat on his shoulder, I helped him up and dusted him off. "I'm glad you feel that way, buddy, because we're gonna do something a little different than what the boss man has planned. Okay?"

"I don't like that look, Beta Rosemary Epsilon."

"Get used to it."

* * *

For the next three days, Falor and I worked on rigging The Dishwasher instead of fulfilling our duties on shift. Celh took the brunt of the work we were neglecting but she was happy about it, assuring us that it made her feel useful. We hardly ever saw Tarq unless he wanted to harass us about how slow our progress was or what a racket we were making.

It was altogether pleasant, to be honest.

"Pass me that ion cutter, will you?" I threw it at him and it hit his leg. "Ouch!"

"Oh, you baby, that didn't hurt."

"I said pass it, not throw it…"

I smirked, turning back to the couplings I was welding onto the back of the dishwasher. Since we'd cut its lifeline and begun rewiring it, there was so little personality to it. Now it was just an abnormally high-functioning dishwasher, a fact that made me sad for a little while. But then I remembered how much it hurt to be lashed with water or to have suds splash into my eyes, and I quickly got over that sentiment. It was needed as a power source and a power source it would be. Falor had immediately agreed to the alterations when I had told him my plan, saying that it would be the only thing that would the public eye to the atrocities of this particular Jet-Fuel Jack's.

He moved behind the dishwasher with me and handed me a bundle of wires to attach while he wrapped the other end in flexible copper sheets. "I think after this last bit we'll be finished, Bre."

"That's good, because I've decided I want to open a clean-eating restaurant with my sisters and Celh, if she wants. Wanna cook for me?"

"Only if you have the freshest ingredients in the galaxy."

"Deal. Hey, that's a good slogan," I mused, clipping the final wires together. Falor and I stepped away as the wire bundle began to glow inside the metal casing of the machine. We had about six minutes to wait before time ran out, so we gathered our tools and headed upstairs.

Falor's singed snout and glittering black eyes pointed straight ahead as he said, "I'll go get Celh and wait for you in the ship. Good luck."

I slipped the plasma knife into my back pocket and shouldered my bag. "Thanks. Hey, Tarq, we're done!"

His face turned purple and he bellowed something unintelligible yet undoubtedly vulgar.

"You'll probably want to go and have a looksee. Make sure we did it right and all that."

Adjusting his cigar, he threw out his chest. "I was on my way to tell you slackers to speed it up anyhow. I'm sure you two did a terrible job, but I'll look anyway." I could tell he was pleased though, because he wasted no time in hurrying down the stairs. Which, in turn, pleased _me._

I saw Falor's little cruiser hovering in front of the airlock and they waved at me. I took my sweet time looking around a place that had sucked away my life for three years, a little thankful that it had been a slow day and that the place was empty save for me, Tarq, and a couple mechanized bus-bots. I even waved to the shadowy cook-bots in the back. With only a moment or so left I tore off my stupid Jet-Fuel Jack's rocket headband, threw it in the trash, and scanned all three eyes in the Vis-O-Bright Optical Recognition box for the last time.

The first pair of doors swished open for me and I swept through like royalty. The queen of my home planet would be proud. The doors closed again with a metallic click and I stepped out of the second pair into the cockpit of Falor's cruiser. Celh laughed and tossed her headband and a cup of blue carbonated sugar particles out the porthole as we flew away.

* * *

Amidst the starlit expanse of space surrounding Asteroid B42-08H3, a not-so-fancy star cruiser rocketed away from what looked like a gaudy, over-lit building perched on the outskirts of a glittering city on a dirty hunk of rock. If the three passengers on this ship had any curiosity at all—which they didn't—to see what was outside their window and had glanced in the direction of this bright star-scraper, they would have seen something rather unusual.

Vis-O-Bright Ocular Enhancers would not provide any aid in seeing this spectacle, because the fireball that engulfed the whole wretched building could be seen from far, far away.

Just as Beta Rosemary Epsilon had planned.

* * *

**A/N:** Did you like it? Send me a review to rant about how horrid Tarq is, how much you love Beta Rosemary Epsilon, or whatever you wish. Have a lovely day, Reader. Please Read, Review, and Enjoy.

_C.D.M._


End file.
